Homeless Please

  I was driving up Telegraph the other day, when I spotted a

 man on the corner. He was dirty and haggard looking. He

 was kind of tall and thin, but it was hard to tell with the

 many coats he was wearing. It was cold as hell that day,

 and I was thankful that I had found the time to take my car

 into the shop.

  Did I forget to mention that I took my car into the shop?

  Anyway, a few days before that cold day when I saw the

 man on the corner, I took my car into the shop. Actually, I

 took my car to two shops. My car desperately needed an

 oil change, transmission fluid, a PVC valve, new tires, and

 new brakes. My costs were fairly low, somewhere around

 1300 dollars. That is not a lot of money for all that I had

 done. My car, a 2002 Ford Taurus, had both the front and

 back end repaired over a year ago, but has never broken

 down on me. Many of my prior cars were poorly

 maintained on a limited budget, and that often led to my

 having to walk for insane distances in bitter cold, pouring

 rain, and intense heat.

   The man on the corner reminded me of the long walks I

 used to take, reminding me how thankful I was to have a

working car to get to work and a work to drive my car to. I

 was also thankful that I could use my car to go other

 places, and that I had money for gas, groceries, and

 automotive repairs. As I saw the man in the distance, I was

 pleased by how smooth my new tires felt on the cold

 concrete. The brakes were also very smooth, though I still

 think they are a little on the soft side. In the man’s hands

 was a large rectangular piece of cardboard. On the

 cardboard was a sloppily scrawled message. I flicked on

 the wiper switch, and watched as my brand new wipers

 glided across the windshield. The bluish fluid covered the

 glass for a moment, lubricating the blades. I squinted to

 read the sign that the guy on the corner was holding.

  “Homeless Please”, was the message written on the large

 cardboard sign. I could not understand what he was asking

 for, or what he was trying to say. The sign did not specify

 whether he wanted money or work. The sign could be a

 declarative statement, or an inquiry of some sort, but in

 either case, poorly written.

    I wondered if his marker ran out of ink before he could

 finish. I wondered if he had any special talents, like

 playing spoons or the ability to emulate a cool disc jockey

 voice. I wondered if he was kicked out of the government

 subsidy apartments down the street, or if he had reached

 his spot from far away. I wondered how long he had been

 standing there, and how long he had to wait for whatever it

 was he was waiting for.

   Sometimes I still wonder.